


Down The Rabbit-Hole

by luthorienne



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 14:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10832943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luthorienne/pseuds/luthorienne
Summary: Clint's most terrifying assignment yet.





	Down The Rabbit-Hole

“So, you know this is ridiculous, right?”

Phil’s tone was brisk, but his touch, as he settled Clint’s leather jacket more comfortably and tugged his collar straight, was kind. Clint felt his cheeks heating. It _was_ ridiculous – it wasn’t as if he didn’t have torture training. He got parachuted into global hotspots all the time, usually without an extraction plan. He jumped off buildings on the regular. He ate a dirty-water hot dog from the cart down on 43rd almost every day. But none of that seemed to matter right now – his mouth was dry, his palms were sweating, and there was a flock of butterflies as big as pterodactyls in his belly. He cleared his throat and tried to work up enough spit to reply.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, looking fixedly at Phil’s tie clip. “What, you think I’m _scared? _I’m not scared.”__

____

____

“Of course not,” Phil agreed, handing him a lemon drop. “Here, this’ll help with the dry mouth.”

Clint glared, but popped the candy into his mouth, slightly relieved that it seemed to work. Phil tucked a few more lemon drops into his jacket pocket, cellophane wrappers rustling crisply, and nudged his shoulder.

“You’ll do fine, Clint” he said. “It’s for Pepper, right?”

Well, yeah. It was for Pepper. It was Pepper who’d asked him, after all. Clint took a deep breath, careful not to inhale his lemon drop, and nodded. 

“Yeah, I know. I just –“ If he could just shoot something, he’d feel calmer. “You know I used to be able to hit a bullseye by torchlight while standing on the back of a galloping horse, right?”

“I’m sure you still can,” Phil said mildly. “Let’s try that later on.”

“Or how about instead?”

“It’s going to take me a few minutes to organize a horse,” Phil replied. “Barton, just breathe with me, okay? In, two, three, four; out, two, three, four, five; in, two, three, four –“

The door opened (and Clint absolutely did not jump, goddammit) and a plump, sixtyish lady with white hair popped her head in.

“We’re all ready for you, Agent Barton,” she said with a sweet smile. Clint produced something that he hoped was a smile. Apparently it wasn't; the plump lady came into the room and took his hand, patting it kindly. “Don’t worry, dear, it will all be over before you know it.” 

For a sweet little old lady, she had a grip like a stevedore and all the relentless purpose of Dr. Doom at his finest. Clint felt himself being tugged out of the room and turned in sudden panic.

“Phil –?!”

But Phil was giving him two thumbs up and mouthing, “For Pepper,” so there was no rescue coming from that quarter. Clint swallowed his lemon drop – whole – and tried to compose himself. _Never show fear_ was one of the first rules of the secret agent business. _For Pepper,_ he thought, taking a deep breath and stepping through the door at the end of the corridor.

There were thirty-five children, aged about five to about seven, sitting in miniature chairs arranged in a semicircle around a larger, vacant chair. As he stepped through the door, all thirty-five started cheering and clapping. For a second, he almost turned around and went right back out again, but Mrs. Doom was blocking the doorway, and there was a steely glint in her bright blue eyes that told him not to bother. 

From behind the crowd of children, Pepper emerged, taking his hand and drawing him gently – but very, very firmly – into the centre of the room. 

“Hey, kids, this is Hawkeye!” she said brightly, sparking a new round of cheers. “Hawkeye, these are the New York Public Library’s most enthusiastic members, and they’re so looking forward to hearing you read to them today!” And with that, she melted away into the back of the room, leaving him alone to face seventy bright eyes, all focused on him. He took another deep breath and settled down on the chair, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees.

“So you guys like the library, huh?” he asked, and was almost blown over by the chorus of assent. In spite of his nerves, he had to smile. “Yeah, me, too.”

“Miss Jolene let us act out Peter Rabbit with puppets!” piped up a little red-haired girl in the front row. 

“Yeah, and Mr. Ron showed us how to make fossils, like dinosaurs,” said a little boy toward the back. 

“Wow, that sounds like fun,” Clint said. “I don’t think I have anything that good,” he said apologetically.

“Yeah, but you’re Hawkeye,” said another little boy. 

“Yeah, you’re an Avenger!”

“You’re my favourite Avenger, Mr. Hawkeye,” whispered a little blonde girl confidingly, reaching out to touch his sleeve. And just like that, Clint was in love, and he wasn’t scared anymore, and he smiled down at thirty-five expectant, upturned faces – a genuine smile, this time.

“Wow, that’s great, because you’re my favourite readers,” he replied. “How about you all crowd in a little, so we can all see the pictures, okay?” And as they did, Mrs. Doom materialized at his elbow and handed him a book with bright, glossy covers – exactly the kind of book five-year-old Clint Barton, dirty, underfed and dressed in his brother’s worn-out clothes, used to pore over in the quietest corner of the Waverly, Iowa Public Library. It was exactly the kind of book Miss Jenkins used to set aside for him, along with an “extra” cookie or two, and “leftover” cartons of milk that should have been forbidden in the library, but which she let him have at a little table in a corner of her office because he was always so very, very careful to eat every crumb and drink every drop. He wondered whatever had happened to Miss Jenkins. 

The little blonde girl touched his sleeve again, and Clint blinked, coming back to the present. 

“So, should we start?” he asked, prompting another chorus of yeahs. He pulled his reading glasses out of the breast pocket of his jacket and put them on, opening the book carefully and clearing his throat. At the back of the room, he could see Pepper and Phil and Mrs. Doom, all smiling encouragingly at him. He took a deep breath. 

__“’ Chapter One, Down the Rabbit-Hole. Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do…’”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> A little vignette in honour of Children's Book Week, May 6-13.


End file.
